


Girl Interrupted

by spoky



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, dominatrix Violet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoky/pseuds/spoky
Summary: DISCLAIMER: This story is RPF, meaning that I use the star image of real people to tell a completely fictional story. It's not meant to offend or insult anyone. Please do not share my fiction with the people I write about on social media or otherwise. Thank you. (For full disclaimer, please see my profile.)Katya is a brat. Violet hates it -- but just a little.





	Girl Interrupted

 

 

“I- I thought we were just playing around?”

 

Katya’s voice is high pitched as she whines on her knees. Her hands are tied behind her back and her jeans have been dragged to half thigh to reveal her dark, patterned boxers.

 

Violet hates it when she wears boxers. She despises the masculine connotation of the item, the association of power the garment embodies. They’re also ugly in colour. How dare she come to her with all of her lies and excuses, wearing a piece of fabric so appalling? How _dare_ she?

 

Violet grabs a pair of scissors from the kitchen counter and approaches Katya with slow steps, the staccato clicks of her high heels echoing in the minimalistically decorated open-plan kitchen living room combination. There’s a hardwood floor and a lot of white; a dinner table for four and only one painting decorating the bone white walls. It’s a cheap copy of Munch’s Madonna. Very Scandinavian. Very gay. The rich kind of gay, not the pink glitter type of gay.

 

“Playing?” Violet asks, her voice low, threatening. She brings her hands down to Katya’s chest and traces gently the red marks she’s left behind earlier. Katya jerks away from the touch and Violet smirks. The fool doesn’t know what’s good for her. She drags the cold metal of the scissors against Katya’s neck, raising visible goosebumps on her skin.

 

“I mean- I mean fooling around. You _know_ what I mean!” Katya shrieks.

 

There’s a hint of desperation in her voice and Violet likes that. Not enough to forgive her, but enough not to cause permanent damage. She brings the scissors down to meet the waistline of Katya’s boxers and snaps the elastic band in half with one sharp snip. The fabric of the boxers tears in between the metal blades and Katya shivers in discomfort, the sharp steel just a tiny bit too close to her genitals. She’s biting her lip to prevent herself from saying anything but Violet can practically smell her fear.

 

“Yes. I do know what you mean,” Violet drawls. She knows very well. Knows that Katya doesn’t consider them as a couple or dating, no strings attached, so to speak. Violet knows. It’s just that she disagrees. When Katya is with her, she’s supposed to obey the rules -- and one of the rules is that you don’t jerk off to random digital media on the internet if Violet is in town. When they’re in the same city, Katya’s cock, testicles and every drop of semen she produces belongs to Violet Chachki. It is really a shame that Katya is incapable of following the rules.

 

Violet cuts the ugly undergarment into teeny tiny pieces, making sure that Katya can feel the cold metal on her skin before ever cut, making sure that she handles the scissors erratically enough to make Katya hold hear breath in fear. The slut deserves no better.

 

The craggy pieces of fabric fall onto the floor and eventually reveal Katya’s throbbing cock. The red tip is glistening with precum and as Violet takes a step back to look at the queen on the floor, Katya closes her eyes in shame.

 

“You’re turned on by the thought of your cock being cut off?” she asks, amused.

 

“You dirty whore,” she insults and kicks Katya’s shoulder forcefully.

 

Katya loses her balance and falls on the floor, hitting her shoulder painfully. There is going to be a bruise, Violet knows it, and her cock twitches at the thought. She walks over to Katya and presses her shoe against the exact same shoulder, weighing down the the sharp heel.

 

“You’re such a nuisa-”

 

A vibration of a mobile phone at the kitchen counter interrupts Violet’s sentence. She turns to stare at the electronic device in anger.

 

“You didn’t turn it off,” Violet says and her voice is laced with barely controlled rage. She walks to the phone and looks at the grinning face of Trixie Mattel.

 

“My my,” Violet drawls. “If it isn’t the scourge herself.”

 

Katya turns to look at Violet in panic.

 

“Please,” Katya begs. Rather pathetically in Violet’s opinion. “Just, _please .”_

 

“Please what?” Violet snaps. She hates it when Katya begs like a common whore. “Use full sentences.”

 

“Leave her out of the game,” Katya says quietly between her teeth and Violet sighs.

 

There are two things that can make Katya lose concentration when they play. One is an orgasm, which Violet thinks is fair, the other one is Trixie Mattel -- and Violet hates that. She hates that Trixie is capable of destroying all of her hard work by a mere phone call or text, which is why one of the rules is to _turn off the fucking phone_. Will Katya ever follow the rules completely? Violet doubts it. But she could definitely make more of an effort.

 

“Yes?” Violet snaps as she answers Katya’s phone.

 

“Oh!” Trixie says in surprise and chuckles at Violet’s annoyed tone in the other end.

 

Violet rolls her eyes violently.

 

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Trixie asks.

 

“You did. I was just about to penetrate Katya with a blunt object -- possibly a baseball bat, I hadn’t quite decided yet.”

 

There’s a silence and Violet takes some pride on the embarrassed expression on Katya’s face. The slut deserves no better than to be humiliated, Violet’s rules are, after all, _very_ simple.

 

“Um, alright then,” Trixie says eventually and clears her throat in embarrassment.

 

“Are they coming?”

 

Violet can hear Alaska’s slow drawl somewhere in the distance and glances at the digital clock on the microwave. 16:12. They’re meeting at 17:00. Unless… She turns to look at Katya on the floor. She hasn’t moved and Violet can only assume it’s because she’s following the rules for once. She walks to Katya and crouches next to her head, foisting her free hand into her short blond hair.

 

“Yes, we’re coming,” Violet says to the phone and yanks Katya’s head up. She hisses in pain. “- at _five . Right?_ ”

 

The question is addressed equally to Katya as it is for Trixie. Katya squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of hesitation Trixie makes in the phone. Violet closes her eyes in anger and pulls Katya's hair, making her whinge in protest.

 

“No! We agreed four, I sent her like thousand messages!”

 

Violet purses her lips and cocks her brows at Katya as she tugs her hair, forcing Katya to look at her. She doubts Alaska has sent Katya thousand messages, probably just one, possibly two, to both of which Katya has most likely replied and assured that they’d be in time. Violet snorts. She knew she was dealing with a brat from the beginning of this relationship, but Katya is seriously testing her boundaries.

 

“I guess you don’t get to come after all,” Violet whispers to Katya before promptly standing up.

 

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Violet says to Trixie and kicks Katya in the ribs - forcefully enough to make her groan in pain, gently enough to keep her safe. “ _Katya_ is very sorry about the delay,” she adds, excluding herself from the apology before placing the phone on the dinner table.

 

“Here, I’ll pass you to Katya, she’ll explain why we’re late.”

 

Katya turns to look up to Violet in horror.

 

“Come on babe, tell your best friend why we’re late,” Violet drawls, starting to walk towards their bedroom, leaving Katya on the floor, her hands still tied behind her back. Violet is not going to help her with a situation she’s created completely on her own. No, Violet has better things to do. She needs to find something to wear, something less ostentatious than the corset, stilettos and the striped, lace top stockings she’s currently wearing. Something more _L.A. 5PM_ on a Wednesday in June, a t-shirt sounds about right.  
  
As Violet steps into their L.A. bedroom, she can hear Trixie’s muffled, confused voice repeating: “Katya? Katya?”, and as she opens her wardrobe door there's a thud and a groan. She hopes it’s Katya banging her head to the floor.

 


End file.
